New Years Day Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

The clock's hands reach forward,
pulling the weight of days yet unseen.
A quiet breath hangs in the air,
stillness wrapped in possibility.

The old year folds like pages of a book,
creased with memory, worn with time.
What was heavy is now light,
what was distant, close.

A step into the unknown calls,
not loud, but persistent.
Each moment waits to be shaped,
raw and tender with hope.

Here stands a threshold,
not a line, but a becoming.
The world turns,
and we turn with it.